For everyone else, however, Harry just appears to be annoyed with something yet again. He makes his way into the Gryffindor common room after arguing with the Fat Lady for far too long (she swore that he was mangling the pronunciation of the latest password so badly that it was wrong, he believed otherwise) and slumps down into the nearest plush armchair.

A voice interrupts his morose staring contest with the fire. “I take it Quidditch practice didn’t go well today?”

If there’s one person who has never had the time to be intimidated by Harry’s various spurts of anger, it would be his closest friend. Hermione Granger barely spares him a glance from above the pages of their Transfiguration textbook, even though they have no homework thus far requiring her to read through such an abundance of pages.

Homework is, however, the last thing on Harry’s mind right now, just as it always is. “That’s the problem, Hermione, there was no Quidditch practice. I didn’t think any of the teams had booked the field yet, but when I went to sign up for the timeslot I wanted, there was already a name there.”

Hermione frowns. “Who was it, then? Don’t tell me Slytherin’s already started putting their players through their paces. They don’t even need to try out new students to fill the empty slots on their teams, we all know everyone just buys their way in anyway.”

Harry chuckles at the venom in her tone. Looks like Harry’s fervent house-based Quidditch superiority has started to leach into Hermione as well.

“It wasn’t Slytherin, actually, it was another student. They wanted the field booked so they and a group of friends could practice for fun, not even for the Quidditch cup.” He complains.

Hermione looks at him with a meaningful grin. “Why do I get the feeling I know exactly who that person was?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Yeah, it was Y/N. Stop looking at me like that.”

Hermione spreads her hands casually. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

They both know that’s not entirely true, though. See, Harry’s been having troubles with Y/N L/N since their first year at Hogwarts. They’re known around the school for being vindictive and cruel, barely a shard of heart left beating in their chests. Y/N may be another Gryffindor, but Harry feels no more connected to them than a Slytherin.

In truth, Harry isn’t acting on much except rumors to form his opinion of Y/N. That’s why Hermione keeps teasing him about them, anyway. She thinks he’s being ridiculous to judge someone based on the gossip people tell for fun. As a victim of the grapevine himself, Harry knows that most rumors aren’t true, but from the few glimpses he gets of Y/N, he hasn’t seen anything to prove those whispers wrong.

Plus, he now gets to blame them on the lack of practice time, so Harry grouses with pleasure. “All the same, I really needed that field. If we’re going to win the Quidditch cup, we need to be ready. I could have used some extra practice time before we start tryouts for the year.”

Hermione gives a rather exasperated sigh and returns to her textbook. “We all know you’ll be fine, Harry. Besides, I’d wager that Y/N has just as much desire to practice with their friends as you do.”

Harry can’t exactly argue with that, so he switches the conversation to safer subjects and does his best to let the morning fade from his mind. Hermione even manages to cajole him into studying, a miracle of its own accord.

In fact, Harry ends up being so productive that afternoon that he breezes through the homework he has left. When Sunday rolls around and the entirety of Gryffindor House panics about all the work they’ve procrastinated until the last minute, Harry is left sitting around as he waits for everyone to cram in their essays and exam prep before Monday morning.

He wonders if this is how Hermione feels all the time, free to sit around and watch as her fellow students frantically scribble out sentences on everything from the beneficial properties of mandrakes to the educational exploits of Maeve, the famed Irish witch.

At last, when Harry’s impatience gets the best of him, he slips out of the common room, the door to the portrait hole thudding shut to the tune of dozens of scratching quills. He ambles aimlessly down the stone corridors, not entirely sure where he’s going, only that he’d like his journey to take up quite a good bit of time.

Harry would be content with passing his hours doing nothing at all, a rather well regarded tradition in every Hogwarts house but especially Gryffindor, yet when he emerges from a dusty stairwell near the eastern side of the castle, he discovers that this may not be the case.

There aren’t that many students out and about at this hour, which means that the scene unfolding before him likely wasn’t meant to be witnessed by anyone, least of all Harry. A small, somewhat mousy first year student was walking down the hall when he was accosted by a trio of much older students, perhaps fifth or sixth years that haven’t yet graduated from the thrill of tormenting younger kids.

They’ve cornered him in a less traveled part of the castle, one holding a wand to the poor boy’s throat while the other two casually search through the pockets of his robe in the hopes of finding something interesting. As Harry watches, one of the older boys holds up a golden Galleon that winks in the light, and pockets the coin with a grin.

Harry’s just made up his mind to do something about it when someone else storms onto the scene. Of all the people to rescue this trembling first year, Harry can freely admit that he wasn’t expecting it to be Y/N L/N, yet here they are, rolling up their sleeves in irritation and pointing their wand at the offending boys.

They call out hexes without a second thought, and moments later, the older boys are clutching faces that have suddenly broken out in intense hives, or fingernails that won’t stop growing. The bullies take off in the opposite direction, practically tripping over themselves in their haste to get away.

Y/N stows their wand away once more, then pauses to retrieve the Galleon from where it had fallen to the ground in the kerfuffle.

“I think you’ll want this back,” they say calmly, and hold the coin out to the younger boy.

He blinks at them in surprise, then carefully tucks it back inside the pocket of his robe and murmurs a quiet thank you.

Y/N just smiles. “Don’t worry about it. Those boys are nothing but trouble, honestly. The good thing is that those spells won’t wear off for quite some time. I’d like to see them finish their homework with nails so long they can’t hold a quill, wouldn’t you?”

The younger boy laughs tremulously, but seems to be doing better, especially when Y/N offers to walk them back to their common room. Neither the younger boy nor Y/N seem to have noticed Harry from where he still stands, half hidden in the shadows of the stairwell, so he’s free to gawk as he pleases.

He remains there for a few minutes longer, stunned over what he’s just seen. Harry thought that Y/N was supposed to be totally heartless, but heartless people wouldn’t go to the trouble of protecting and then comforting first year students.

He shakes his head to clear his mind of the troublesome thoughts and continues on his way. It appears that Harry might have misjudged Y/N after all. This is especially true given the rumors circulating around them with such frequency. There’s no way Y/N hasn’t heard the gossip, but they couldn’t care less about what others think of them. In all honesty, Harry’s kind of envious of their unflappable demeanor.

Perhaps that’s why he’s thinking about the encounter hours and even days later. Harry starts to keep a more careful eye out, and soon he’s noticing even more things than before. Y/N talks happily with their friends as they go to class, they pay attention even when facing down a blathering Professor Binns, and they enjoy practicing on their broom even though they’re not on the Quidditch team.

Harry doesn’t know how he didn’t notice it before, but he can’t escape the all-encompassing evidence that Y/N L/N is actually a really great person. It practically rocked his world, and he must not be doing as good a job of disguising his shock as he thinks, because barely a week after seeing Y/N in that hallway, Ron confronts him about it.

They’re sitting at the long Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, eating some breakfast before they start the day. Harry is sneaking the occasional glance at Y/N, who he can just make out farther down the table. His surreptitious surveillance is interrupted, however, by the sound of his own best friend calling him out.

“Listen, mate, are you actually going to hear a word I’m saying or just keep staring at Y/N?”

Harry blinks in surprise and dimly remembers that Ron had been talking about something, perhaps the Chudley Cannons setting a record by winning one game out of the last seven.

He does his best to sound present in the conversation. “Of course I’m hearing you. Chudley Cannons, right? I’m glad they’re doing well.”

Ron sighs. “We stopped talking about the Cannons ten minutes ago. You really are distracted by Y/N, aren’t you?”

Harry freezes. “No, I’m not. What are you talking about?”

Ron exchanges a significant glance with Hermione over the front page of her newspaper. “See,” she says matter-of-factly, “I told you.”

Harry frowns. “Told you what?”

Hermione arches a brow. “That you’re lost on Y/N, obviously.”

“I’m not lost on them,” Harry protests, although it sounds weak even to his own ears.

Ron and Hermione exchange yet another glance, which is starting to irritate him. 

“Of course you’re not,” Ron says, although Harry gets the feeling the boy doesn’t actually mean it, “you’re just a little sidetracked. How about you talk to them or something instead of just staring? Seems like it would be a much healthier approach.”

Hermione bites back a laugh at Ron’s choice of words. “I think what we’re trying to say is that Y/N would definitely be open to talking to you if you just approached them. See, they’re leaving the table now. This is your chance.”

Harry stands up impulsively. “Yeah,” he says, “I think it is.”

Before he can stop himself, he hurries out of the Great Hall after Y/N. He catches up to them after a few seconds, and Y/N turns to greet him at the sound of his approaching footsteps. 

“Hi, Y/N, how are you?” Harry asks, wondering why on earth he can’t seem to have a conversation past basic parlor conversation.

Y/N, however, seems or simply chooses not to notice. “I’m doing pretty well, actually. Same with that first year from the hall, by the way. I think I’ve had success with chasing off those boys.”

Harry nearly chokes on his own surprise. “What?” He asks, trying not to sound suspicious.

Y/N has the audacity to grin. “I know you were there last week, by the way. I did see you moving to stop them, sorry I got there first.”

Harry wonders if they think he’s weird for watching the whole encounter. “I’m glad the boy is doing well,” he offers, and they nod.

“I think he just didn’t know how to stand up to people. It turns out most everyone around here isn’t nearly as scary as they seem. All you have to do is talk to them.” They say.

Harry nods solemnly. “I’m starting to figure that out for myself.”

Y/N laughs, and Harry can’t help but smile along with them. “I’m glad to hear it.”

They’ve reached the base of one of the moving staircases right now, and Harry realizes with a panic that if he wants to say something, he’d better do it now.

He calls out to Y/N before he can stop himself. “Do you want to go out with me? You know, just to hang out sometime.”

They pause with their foot on the first step, then turn back with a grin. “I’d like that quite a bit,” they say, and Harry feels his entire chest lighten.

“Alright, then,” he says, “how about tomorrow night?”

Y/N’s eyes spark in the light from a nearby window. “Tomorrow night sounds wonderful.”

Harry waves goodbye, then heads back to the Great Hall with a smile on his face. As it turns out, he’s got a date.